


After Ziang

by BlueInkAlchemist



Category: Transmetropolitan
Genre: F/M, Friendship, LOTS AND LOTS OF PROFANITY, and how she handles how much of a jerk he is, but this is spider jerusalem we're talking about, how channon handles ziang becoming a foglet, possibly ruining a friendship, so that's par for the course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 15:42:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12684888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueInkAlchemist/pseuds/BlueInkAlchemist
Summary: Channon's ex-boyfriend chose to get downloaded, becoming a 'foglet', and Spider Jerusalem takes her to bear witness. What happens next is something neither of them expect. Takes place between "Boyfriend is a Virus" and "Another Cold Morning" in the official work.





	After Ziang

"Ziang."

My filthy assistant's word is a whisper. The name of her shit of an ex-boyfriend. He was there with her until he left, and he's leaving as a foglet. There's already a cloud of nanites in there, Xiehe by name, overseeing his procedure. And now, he's there, too. Channon leans in.

"Look at you. You've locked the door behind you, Ziang. Don't get any second thoughts now."

He won't. He's been aiming for this all along. Channon was a stopgap, some lovely filler, on his road to downloading. And now he's done it. A big, pink cloud of everything and nothing, just like my friend, Tico. Tico seems pleased with the procedure, as much as he is with himself. I glance at Channon. She's transfixed. Good. She needs this. Needs to see her ex-boyfriend happy. Needs to know he can't, won't, hurt her anymore.

The clouds of fog that are individuals move together, lightning arcing, sparks flying.

"Pretty."

I'm a fucking eloquent journalist, let me tell you.

"Isn't it?" Channon's voice is just a bit lighter than it has been all day. I breathe a silent sigh of relief. "What's happening in there, Tico?"

"Well, um..." Tico's voice, with that soft extra tone to it like it's getting filtered through a fine mesh of sterling silver, is hesitant. 

Oh, shit.

"Essentially, without getting into heavy physics or anything... Ziang and Xiehe are having sex."

Channon breaks. She turns. Runs for the door.

I spin on my friend the foglet, grinding my teeth so hard I might start spitting them. "For fuck's SAKE, Tico..."

"You want me to lie to her?"

"I don't want you to do _SHIT_." I snap the words out as I run after her. My top hat flies off as I give chance. Fuck it. Maker can whip me up a new one, provided it isn't manufacturing its own drugs today.

Right now, Channon's A-number-1 priority.

Not that I'd ever admit that.

* * *

Fuck him.

Fuck that asshole. Fuck his stupid, pretty little lightshows. Fuck that bitch that pounced him the second he died.

I mean, his human body died. His...

The fuck is all of this? Why am I crying over his stupid foglet ass?

Why did I fall for him?

Shit. He never even liked me all that much. It was all about the sex, for him. The good lay. Fucking the ex-stripper in the back of a taxicab for a few seconds of thrill between the now and the eventual downloading.

I'm not sure if I sit down on the pavement or if the pavement comes up and catches my ass. I'm full of wracking sobs and hatred and pain. I hate being like this.

I watch my tears hit the pavement as I feel the fuckhead approach.

I still call him that, sometimes, in my head. It makes me smile. It reminds me of a simpler time.

Back when I danced. Back in Angels 8. Back before the riot that changed everything, for Spider and for me.

He crouches down next to me, peering through those glasses of his. He really does look like a spider when he does that, you know? Like he's waiting for a person to cough up a juicy morsel of a story he can wrap up, in a web of profanity and scathing insight, to shit out onto the world that doesn't want to hear what he has to say, but needs to.

Fuckhead.

I break the silence with a pointed "What." My voice bites out more than I thought it would.

"If you want Eskimo," says the fuckhead, "I'm buying."

Curse the man three times as hard for knowing one of my favorite snack foods. I manage a nod and I let him help me up.

The City goes on around us as we find the joint, sit down, and dig into the seal burgers and caribou eyes. He starts going on about what an asshole Tico is, and then goes into something unrelated. Something about reclamation or reservations or who knows what. We make it back to the apartment and he hands me a bottle of scotch before saying he's going to sit out on the balcony and write. I leave him to it.

I get my clothes off, throw on a comfy robe, and start drinking. The more I drink, the less I want to be alone. Every swallow makes the voice in my head telling me it's a bad idea more and more quiet. Maybe Ziang never liked me, but Spider does, in his own little fucked-up way. Maybe something should be done about that. Maybe I'll feel better. Or at least feel good for a minute, and not so fucking alone.

Let me finish this bottle and then it'll be time.

* * *

"Spider."

I've never heard that tone before. Not from Channon. Usually that sort of quiet, quasi-desperate tone means that some serious shit is about to happen. A big talk. A break-up. A subpeona. A kick to the balls.

I've had them all, so when I turn around, believe me when I say I'm fucking shocked.

Channon slowly unties the sash of her robe and lets it drop. She's naked underneath.

Let me remind you of a couple things.

I met Channon at a strip joint in Angels 8. Yes, that Angels 8. And yes, that night. She was with me on the roof. Kept calling me "fuckhead". She wasn't wrong, of course. Never has been, not on that score. Anyway, I've seen "the goods" before. And Channon is, as the kids might say, "stacked". On top of her smarts — pretty considerable — and her strength — both inner and outer — she's really fucking attractive. Dudes, ladies, and those who choose neither or change back and forth would unanimously agree. I'm not immune to it. I just deal with it in my own way. Acerbic writing. Drugs. Lots and lots of jerking off.

But she's naked.

I don't just mean she's not wearing clothes. She's not wearing anything. Not her armor. Not her fuck-off-if-you-actually-want-to-keep-your-dick attitude. Not her half-smoldering, half-searing stare. She's not behind a wall. She's not hiding.

She looks at me, scared, anticipatory, drunk, not saying anything.

Fuck.

The fuck do I do with this?

* * *

Spider takes off his glasses.

Shit. That's gotta mean shit is about to hit the fan.

I almost pick up my robe and run. I'm fucking terrified. Why am I even here? Isn't this what he wants? He's an asshole. A complete bastard. He should be jumping my bones, like any other fuck-happy male would be all too happy to do right now. I'm drunk. I'm lonely. I'm at his mercy.

Instead, he stands up and walks slowly over to me, hands in his pockets. Not in a diddling himself way, either. Like...

He's standing in front of me, looking at me with this mix of compassion and fear. Like...

Like a friend would.

"I am going to say this once."

My breath catches in my throat.

"I am not, and never will be, that much of a fucking asshole."

I stare. I don't know what to say. But Spider does. Spider always does.

"If this were a different situation, if we'd had dinner and drinks, or we were screaming at one another and you planted one on me to shut my ass up, then yes, I'd fuck you six thousand ways 'til Sunday, then down some electrolyte whiskey and keep on fucking you until Monday rolled around and Royce phoned me up asking where his fucking column is, and I'd say 'Sorry, Royce, I'm balls deep in my assistant, let me call you back after—'"

"Okay!" I hadn't realized how hard I was laughing until I try to breathe in. "Okay, I get it, shit." By the time I recover, Spider's picked up my robe and put it back around my shoulders.

"Look. You're my assistant. And, sometimes, maybe, I'd like to think, my friend. Maybe the only one who really knows who I am, more to the point, and what an asshole I am."

He stares into my eyes. I can count the circles around and under them. Spider doesn't sleep much. He needs more rest. He needs to get laid more often.

Don't we all?

"But we do this now, we get all animalistic and ugly-bumping the way things are now, we'll both regret it. You're vulnerable, and you'll regret letting me take advantage of you. And I'll regret being the sort of asshole that takes advantage of a vulnerable woman and a professional assistant just because I'm a horny fuckhead."

I bite my lip and hold back tears. I just want...

"I want to stop feeling for a while, Spider. I just want to not feel this empty."

"I get it. Whip up some potato schnapps and down as many as you want, okay? Tomorrow's yours. No badgering, no journalism, no television. I'll order in for you and make you more drugs so you can get yourself through it. But here? Now? I'm not going to fuck you."

"Why not?"

"Because I fucking CARE about you, Channon. I care about you enough to know that fucking you right now is about the worst idea on the face of the planet that the two of us could make. And I won't let either of us blow apart this good thing we've got just to get my rocks off and let you escape one bad feeling into another. I care about you WAY too much to do that bullshit." He frowns. "Fuck. You let that shit out and I will bowel disruptor you in your sleep. Seriously, it's 'prolapse' for you, young lady, and I am NOT cleaning up your bed. Get me?"

I smile. "Yeah, fuckhead. I get you."

He grins. " _Trust_ the fuckhead."

And I do.


End file.
